Flicker, Flicker, Fade
by Frigyt
Summary: She had been all over Middle Earth, but a task from Lord Elrond sends the Thief in the Night onto a daunting journey to gather the Dúnedain rangers. All she had ever wanted was recognition and to be of worth, so she accepts the task to hopefully gain what she desires. But she wants and what she needs are often two very different things. Book/Movie/Game-verse, OC, no pairing yet.
1. Arrival Times and Old Friends

**Hello all! **

**Just a quick note before we begin. First, I am a little out of my element here, as the only other story I have ever written was a very short Call of Duty fanfiction. However, I recently fell in love with J. R. R. Tolkien's massive universe, and so, I wish to try my hand at a story. With that said, I really will rely on feedback from the readers, as I have no beta, and I may get some lore about Middle Earth wrong. **

**With that said, I will also do my best, and hopefully create an engaging story!**

**So, please enjoy!**

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She had heard many tales of Bree-town in her youth, but what they had not prepared her for was the smell. Her nose crinkled up in disgust; she had not smelled something as foul as when she had taken a shortcut through Gobin Town in the Misty Mountains, and even that may have been giving a kindness to the goblins. Saerthwyn pulled her hood down and her cowl up, scowling as the rain persisted and fell harder. Underneath her, her steed shifted, also not liking the rain as she neighed miserably and shook out her mane. Giving her an encouraging pat and a murmured promise of oats, she urged her over the stone bridge that crossed the rain-swelled creek and breathed a sigh of relief as the south gate came into sight. The wood of the gate was beginning to rot and decay, and Saerthwyn knocked on it with cautiousness, afraid she would push it over with the slightest touch.

The panel of the gate slid open, and a withered eye looked out. "State yer business."

"I come for a warm bed and shelter from the rain at the inn," Saerthwyn replied easily, having said those words far too often for her liking. Alascene snorted and pawed underneath her, and her rider gave a small smile. "And a nice stabling for my friend here, as well."

"Tha Prancin' Pony'll provide all o' tha for ye, woman." The sliding panel of the door slid shut with a shriek, and the large gate began to open. Alascene headed through immediately, and it slammed shut behind them, almost catching the horse's tail. The gatekeeper, a crotchety old man with one good eye peered up at them with the light from a oil lamp. He scrutinized her sharply, the eye observing her dark garb and hood to her horse's packed saddlebags, before heaving a sigh and retreating back into the house, calling behind his shoulder at her. "Tha Pony is up that hill in front of ya, and stable is in the back. Keep yer nose to yerself, and no trouble, ya hear?"

"Yes, sir," Saerthwyn muttered, dropping the kidness from her tone immediately as she urged her horse out of the man's earshot. She slumped against the rain and let Alascene trot up the hill, to a rather large inn with a flaking, painted sign creaking in the winds. She tethered her mount, and gave her a quick pat and a reassuring murmur that she would only be a moment. Alascene snuffed her hand to let her know she understood and watched as her rider disappeared behind the heavy wooden door of the Prancing Pony.

Immediately she spotted the one Lord Elrond had asked her to seek; the dark, imposing figure smoking in the back of the dining room. He wasn't hard to miss. She adverted her eyes as she felt his gaze sweep her, and as she relaxed into a non-threatening pose, his gaze swept past her to the door again. Sighing, Saerthwyn was slightly disappointed; this man knew her better than most, and he still could not pick her out of a crowd. That, however, was something to be proud of as well, she decided; the act she could blend so easily into a crowd proved that years of hardship had produced a boon. Saerthwyn moved to the inn keeper, a jolly, whiskered man who was busy dolling out pints to patrons. She grabbed his attention and paid for room and board for two nights, as well as a bucket of oats for her horse. Heaving the metal bucket, she made it look like she could barely carry it, and began to walk toward the back door of the Pony, which conveniently placed her past the dark man's table. With quick fingers as she passed, she dropped Lord Elrond's note to him and kept moving, never once making eye contact or stopping to chat.

The door shut with a _whumph_ behind her as Saerthwyn exited back into the rain. She allowed herself a second to lean against the door and breathe a sight of relief; not one patron had seen her drop the letter to Elrond's charge, she was sure of it. She hustled back to Alascene, who looked miserable in the rain, and led her back to the stables the Pony offered. The stablehand offered to take her steed off her hands, but Saerthwyn waved him off; she never let anyone take care of her responsibility but herself.

To her surprise, the straw bedding was clean, as was the water; the hay in the manger for her horse looked freshly cut and harvested. Alascene trotted right in, claiming her home for the next two nights, and allowed Saerthwyn to unhook her bridle and remove her bit before she dove into the hay. Saerthwyn inspected the leather, checking for cracks, but as always, the craftsmanship was impeccable. Hanging it on a nail, she loosened Alascene's saddle girth and gave her a pat, letting the sweat evaporate off her mount. It may have been raining outside, but it had been a hard ride from the Forsaken Inn in the Lonelands and she didn't want her best friend catching a chill.

Kindly, Saerthwyn asked the boy stablehand where she could obtain a bucket of water and brushes, and he eagerly ran to fetch them both for her. Laughing slightly at his enthusiasm, she scraped some mud off her boots onto the ground and waited for him to return. Breathing deeply, she let the smell of horse and straw soothe her and remind her of where she came from. It brought a pit of sadness into her stomach at the same time, and she quickly rubbed at her eyes, trying to avoid a stress headache.

Quick footsteps alerted her to the stablehand returning, and Saerthwyn winked at him before flipping him a silver piece. The small boy's eyes widened to twice their size; it was a hefty tip for a stableboy, and Saerthwyn knew it. He thanked her graciously and trotted off, and Saerthwyn laughed as she watched him bite into the silver to make sure it was real. Unlatching the door once again, she sidled back into the stall, Alascene glancing lazily at her. Hefting the saddle off her mount, she settled it on top of the stall door. She checked that for damage as well; the saddle was nothing but well worn and lovingly used. Saddlebags were all in order, she took note of that as well; none had been damaged in her ride, nor had they been tampered with.

"Alright, my friend," Saerthwyn sighed, unclasping her cloak and cowl and hanging them over the stall door as well. Running her hand over her fair hair, she made sure the knot that held it back was tight and on top pf her head before grabbing the water bucket. She dunked Alascene's bit into the water, cleaning the froth and spit from it so it would avoid rusting. That got hung on top of the saddle, and Saerthwyn made sure it was not tangled. Next came the bucket with the grooming supplies, and Saerthwyn started when something soft brushed against her hand. It was a dry cloth, and a smile crawled onto the woman's face as she realized the stabehand had provided it to dry her mount off. "Let's get you clean, Al."

Alascene whickered in approval as her rider began to pull the water off her coat with the towel. The poor mare was drenched; the water ran of in rivulets as Saerthwyn coaxed it out of her coat. Alascene was a big horse; much bigger than when Saerthwyn had originally found her, roaming the plains by herself and whinnying pitifully for her mother. Giving her rump a pat, Saerthwyn traded the drenched cloth for a brush, and began to brush out the sweat, dirt and grime from her coat. It started to gleam under her careful care, the horse went from mud covered back to her natural dark brown color. It took Saerthwyn to stand on her toes to reach her horse's back, and that was saying something, as Saerthwyn was tall herself.

"I think I am feeding you too much," Saerthwyn chuckled, scratching the white star on Alascene's forehead. The steed's eyes fluttered close and her chewing slowed; this was her favorite place to be scratched. Fondly, Saerthwyn looked upon her dearest friend, rubbing next behind her ear. A wave of sudden sorrow washed over Saerthwyn, and she pressed her forehead to the star on Alascene's. "What are we doing, my friend? We are not meant for this at all."

The main door the the stable creaked, and Saerthwyn froze, awaiting the hustled footsteps of the stablehand or the shuffling, dragging of the stablemaster. She heard neither; it was a cautious, long gait, and she knew who it was immediately; she slid into a crouch, intent on frightening the man. Creeping out of sight, she pressed up against the stall door, allowing the shadow of the door to cover her, held her breath, and waited.

The footsteps stopped in front of the low wooden wall, and she held back a laugh. Counting three to herself, she jumped straight up and twisted, slamming her arms down on the top of the door and grinning widely. Eyeing the shocked man in front of her, who had lurched backwards and grabbed the hilt of a hidden dagger, she laughed loudly as he sent her a glare. "Hail to the king! I do hope you know which end of that dagger to stick me with, should you choose to use it."

"Keep your voice down, Nimblefinger," he murmured, letting himself into the stall. Alascene flicked her ears toward him, but other than that, showed no interest in the intruder. Saerthwyn shrugged, dug the hoof pick out from the tool bucket, and went to work on Alascene's feet. The feeling of being lost in the world had been smothered, for now, and replaced with a forced and nervous jovial mood. She couldn't believe she was almost caught reminiscing and confused; that was the job of her enemies, not Saerthwyn, the Burglar!

"Five years, and you still chose to great me with one of my lesser titles. What of Thief of the Night, or Watcher of Roads, or especially Nemesis of the Fallen? That is a favorite of mine, personally," She grunted, lifting up Alascene's foot and scraping at the mud caked under it, and picked at it a little forcefully. "Never really understood where that came from, though."

"This note, from Lord Elrond," he cut her off, crossing his arms and watching her work. "His foresight and the Lady Galadriel's is once again impressive. Although, I do not think my brothers will leave their posts easily; you have a great task ahead of you, Saerthwyn. One which I hope you do not intend to partake alone."

"Once again, straight to business. Too serious for your own good, that's what my mother would say to you, if she wasn't dead. What am I calling you now these days? Strider, is it?" The surprised look that passed his face confirmed her assumption and bluff. "Good to know my eavesdropping skills haven't diminished. Thought I was getting old."

"Simply answer the question, Saerthwyn, that's all I ask of you, please. Do not dance around it." Strider rubbed between his eyes, probably stopping a headache. Dropping the second hoof, Saerthwyn moved onto the third.

"But where is the fun it that friend? Everyone needs a little mischief in their life." At the glare that came from underneath his hand, she bristled but relented, putting up her hands, trying to stop the sarcasm from slipping into her voice. That was the look of superiority, whether he realized it or not, but it reminded Saerthwyn of past wrongdoings done unfairly to her person. "I yield. As always, you are wiser than I; the time for jokes and games is not yet here. I forget myself, for I am but a mere simpleton, please forgive me; I have talked my way out of many a situation, and sometimes, I do not know how to stop."

His gaze softened, and he moved to Alascene's wither, scratching at skin that had been twitching in order to relive her itch. He took in the woman's appearance as she scrapped out the fourth and final hoof. She hid it well, but the woman was exhausted to the core; there were old mud stains on her armour which she had not yet removed, as well as darker, more sinister looking stains. As she stood, she winced at what Strider assumed to be a crick in her back, indicating many nights spent in the saddle or an injury that had not been healed properly. Realizing how his question must have sounded, he let out a hefty sigh and rubbed at his stubbled cheek before he reached out an placed a hand on her shoulder, causing Saerthwyn to freeze almost immediately. "I apologize, my friend, I did not intend to demean you. You are well, I hope?"

His hand on her shoulder provided an unwelcome feeling of comfort, on that she had not felt since her childhood years. It was the dangerous sort of comfort, that made one think of safety and a full night's sleep. Saerthwyn couldn't trust that kind of comfort anymore, not without a dagger under her pillow. That was the air that a true king gave off, she supposed. She quickly slipped out of the hand, moving to Alascene's tail, intent on braiding it.

"Well enough one can be in times such as these. The days grow darker, and it is not my preferred kind of darkness. The two of us ride hard each day to spread the warning, but I fear none shall listen to us west of the Golden Wood." She combed out a few tangles and Alascene tossed her head, not fond of the combing. "My apologies Al, but it must be done. Surely you have sensed it, Strider. There is a cloud of evil spreading over this land, and it must be stopped."

She fixed him with a pointed look and he diverted his eyes, her steely look still rather intimidating despite the absence their friendship had shared. "And you think you can stop it? Alone?"

"I am not the person to stop it, Strider, nor will I ever claim I am," Saethwyn said lowly, stressing his name. She tried to calm down, gathering the horsehair into three sections, but she found that she could not do so. "And while that may be the case, I refuse to stand idly by where there are tasks that I can do to assist. I am not alone; I have Alascene, and I have the dark. I will complete the task Lord Elrond has given to me, despite your ideas about it, and I will complete it to the best of my ability."

"But there are dangers out there that even you cannot face alone, Saerthwyn!" He barked, the sound sharp and cold in the warm stable. A few of the nearby horses snorted and pawed the ground, the outburst having made them anxious. Strider lowered his voice to a harsh murmur. "You are an excellent burglar, and an even better soldier, but one person cannot stand up to one hundred! With the Black Riders roaming the fields, the dead awaking and walking the lands, and orcs and wargs infesting every place they can, it is no longer safe for you to undertake this by yourself!"

She tied the braid off, biting her lip in frustration. She would never get him to see reason, not with the amount of concern for her he held onto throughout the years. Sometimes, she regretted ever making his acquaintance. She took some deep breaths, trying to get the red, angry color to recede from her face before replying. "Lord Elrond specifically gave this task to me, and I wish to do well by him. Please, Strider. I cannot ask for anyone to accompany me, for we both know Alascene can run faster than all of them. I am not looking for fights as I contact your brothers; I go simply as a messenger to prepare them, should the need arise!"

He studied her then, the gleam of determination in her eyes and also how closed she had just become to him. Her life had not been easy, he knew, and somewhere, deep in his gut, he knew she would be fine to take care of herself on her own. The matter still persisted, though, because he truly would be devastated if anything happened to her. They had been dear friends for the past five years, and he did not want all of it to be for naught. He sighed, rubbing his eyes and relenting. He never won against her anyway. "Pack a fur cloak for Forochel, for it is extremely cold. Lothrandir is very strange for requesting to study and to guard that area."

A grin spread over her face, and she offered her hand. He clasped it firmly, the clap resounding in the stall. "I will be sure to do so, Strider. I have already met Ranadir and Candaith, and informed them of the situation. They are ready to move at a moment's notice. Lord Elrond will send them ravens if the time arises. Ranadir was such a solemn man, and Candaith much like him; I hope not all of your kin are as such? I must have people who are willing to partake in some mischief!"

He smiled, and after that, they fell into easy conversation. Strider asked where she had been, and how his kin were doing. Saerthwyn did her best to answer his questions as she braided Alascene's mane, but made sure to leave out the details of her fighting escapades. That would only start another argument.

"Ah, I have forgotten! How silly of me." Saerthwyn thumped her palm on her forehead in mock jest, dramatically looking to her saddlebags. "The lady sent something with me for you, in case we were to meet."

She laughed as Strider straightened himself up, chest puffing up just a little. Digging out the sliver of cloth, she placed it into his hands and curled his fingers around it. "She said it was a preview of a future gift."

Already knowing what it was, Saerthwyn grabbed the bucket of oats from the ground and shook it, immediately grabbing Alascene's attention. The big mare turned and stuck her snout right into the bucket, eating heartily of her well earned treat. Saerthwyn scratched her neck, watching her horse fondly. A silence fell over the two, both caught up in their own thoughts. Saerthwyn thought of the road ahead, and pushed the thoughts of the road behind away. Those memories would not help her now.

Alascene finished her bucket of oats and snuffed Saerthwyn's pockets for more. She pushed her head aside jokingly, before giving her a good pat and wishing her friend a good sleep. Alascene bumped her head against Saerthwyn's back, to say goodnight, and retreated to the far corner to sleep. Replacing her damp cloak and cowl onto her head and shoulder, and grabbing her tack and saddlebags, Saerthwyn hefted them onto her arm while Strider opened the door for her, and they both made their way back to the Pony together, Saerthwyn offering to buy her friend a drink and he politely declining.

They entered the Prancing Pony and Saerthwyn excused herself to deposit her saddle in her room. It was nicely sized, and the bed did not seem to have many bugs in it, and for that, she was pleased. Dropping the tack in a corner of the room, she tapped around on the floorboards until she found a loose one and pried it up with one of her daggers, placing her saddlebags in the underneath compartment. Grabbing a few spare coins, she trotted out of the door, making sure to lock it with the key provided. Now that she had possessions in her life, she was very protective of them and never wanted to lose any of them!

She jumped back down the stairs and dodged the groping hand of a drunkard and nudged him to the side to slip around him. Once she was out of his line of sight, the drunk didn't care, and went back to chasing the barmaid. Plopping into the chair adjacent of Strider, she motioned for a drink before lounging back in her chair and observing the room. The cheer, the merriment, the laughter; it was not something Saerthwyn got to experience often, and a genuine smile was worming its way onto her face underneath her cowl.

The door opened, but no one walked in; Saerthwyn furrowed her eyebrows until she sucked in a deep breath. Strider slid his eyes over to her, over his smoking pipe, watching her. She felt all the happiness previously felt leave her in a gust, her stomach dropping to her feet. Then the four halflings came into her view, and she knew the danger was with them. Fighting the dread, she grasped the tankard of ale that was passed to her and kicked her feet up on the table, trying to still her fast beating heart and maintain a normal facade. The night was going to be a rather long one, and as she caught Strider's inquisitive glance and nodded, the dread simply grew, and she sensed that this night would not be kind to her.

"Well," she sighed, and took a long swig of her ale. "It looks like your party of four have arrived."


	2. The Ranger of North Bree

**Hello all! **

**Thanks for all the favorites and follows, I appreciate it! I wanted to offer some clarification for the future: This will follow the movie and the book, but not until way, way, later; the main part will follow the LOTRO aspect of the story, since much is not mentioned in the books about it. It will be updated when I can, probably mainly on weekends, as my life can be rather demanding. However, I hope you stick with it, as I am super stoked to write it!**

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In the early morning, when she was sure the hobbits had fallen back into a dreamless sleep, and Strider had decided the danger had passed and dozed off, Saerthwyn slipped out of the room they had spent the long night in and made for her own in the Pony. The feeling of dread the Nazgûl bore with them wherever they went still lingered in the inn, and Saerthwyn was eager to be in fresh air again. Prying her belongings from under the floorboard and slinging Alascene's tack onto her arm, she left the Pony and the dread behind, and stepped into the breaking dawn. While she did prefer the twilight hours to the daytime, the bright rays of the sun and the rosy hue of the sky did have its advantages. The Nazgûl shouldn't be as strong in the sunlight, she mused as she pushed open the stable door, and that meant she could complete her small task for the fellowship easily and without harm. She wouldn't go with them, she had decided last night as she and Strider had stood watch over the sleeping hobbits. Her own task was waiting, and was in itself very tedious and time consuming; escorting the hobbits to Rivendell would take too much of her time, and time was of the essence with her task.

Saddling Alascene, she led her steed out of the stall and into the breaking sunlight. It was just coming over the mountains, and Bree-town was still sleepy with the night. However, she was pleased to find the West gate open, and she mounted upon Alascene, asked if she was ready, and with a toss of her steed's head, they went flying through the gate, startling a few chickens as they passed.

There was a prominent horse farm to the north of Bree, about two kilometers away from the actual city. Nothing for Alascene to cover. Saerthwyn's cloak billowed out behind her as her horse powered over the fields, spraying mud from the night's rain everywhere; on her hide, on her rider, and on unsuspecting undergrowth creatures. Alascene let out a happy whinny, tossing her head, and Saerthwyn laughed at her antics; her steed was full of life, and it lifted her heart to see it. Seven years ago, it was not the case.

The northern fields of Bree were green and lush, sprawling with farmland and homesteads. The pair flew past them all, covering distance quickly. Saerthwyn took a look around as she passed some of them. None were razed to the ground, a good sign that orcs were not in the vicinity. It astounded Saerthwyn how different her homeland and others tended to be; she had been used to skewering orcs and dodging fires, all while attempting to herd the women and children to some kind of safety. Here, it seemed nothing more fearsome than a rogue brigand ever attacked farms. That wasn't to say the land was untouched completely, however; people seemed less friendly, never giving more than was required, as Saerthwyn experienced with a farmer who merely nodded at her heartfelt shout as she thundered past him. Perhaps they all could sense the growing darkness, but when it engulfed their homes, would they be ready?

The sign for Hengstacer Farms appeared as the pair crested a small hill, and Saerthwyn slowed Alascene to a trot, letting her stretch and cool down after that nice run. The sign pointed to the left, up another hill, and Saerthwyn turned her mount up the path. She could see some horses grazing in the field, all of different types: coursers, rouncies, and chargers alike. They were impressive, she noted, looking at a chestnut steed as he peered curiously at her over the fence, ears flicking back and forth. His conformation was impressive, his built rather large, perfect for a charger of the battlefield. But, she mused, as she trotted toward a man forking hay into a stall, she had seen more impressive horses back in her homeland.

"Hail, friend, and well met!" Saerthwyn called to the man, slowing Alascene to a walk. The man straightened up, appraising her with critical eyes, then studied her mount, widening as he did so. He must have realized what he was looking at, for Saerthwyn noticed the greed and desire flood his eyes as they roamed over Alascene, who had sensed the attitude of the man and laid her ears back as she paced underneath Saerthwyn.

"Hail indeed, my friend!" The tone was fake, Saerthwyn immediately noticed. She went on her guard. "What can I help you with?"

"I am partaking on a splendid journey!" She said easily, crossing her hands over the pommel of Alascene's saddle, slouching a little bit forward, making her body language look non-threatening and somewhat naive. "I need a hardy mount, not for riding, you see, but for carrying my precious possessions."

As the man babbled about the quality of his horses and how he bred them and other uninteresting information, Saerthwyn nodded politely and scanned her eyes across the stables. Most of the horses were well-fed and watered, with clean stalls if they were in the stalls. As the man motioned her to follow her to pick out a horse, a yelling and creaking from behind her gave her pause. Turning in the saddle, she scowled as she saw a medium sized pony pulling a cart that was much too large for his stature. He was huffing, nostrils flaring as he heaved against the heavy load, doing his absolute best to please, but the driver of the cart didn't care. Cracking the whip over his back, he cursed as the pony did not move faster, and went to crack the whip again. Scars on the pony's amber hide told Saerthwyn that this whipping was a common and frequent thing, and the brand on the pony's shoulder told her that this was indeed a pony from Hengstacer Farms.

"Tell your man there to stop, stablemaster." Her tone had gone cold as ice, and the man immediately silenced his sale technique. "Or I shall take my business elsewhere."

The stablemaster darted over to the cart, yelling at the driver to stop. Saerthwyn walked Alascene over slowly, trying to smother her anger. She dismounted and lead Alascene over to the cart, ignoring the men as they argued and instead went to the pony. She stuck her hand out for him to snuff, which he did so halfheartedly, head and eyes drooping low. Flies gathered on the pony's hide, and the animal didn't even have the energy to flick them off. He was muscular, from the towing of the cart Saerthwyn supposed, but underfed; ribs were poking through his coat.

"Is he for sale, sir?" Saerthwyn interrupted lightly, scratching the pony behind the ears. He flicked them up at the sound of her voice, and pushed into her hand in order for her to scratch more. The two men looked at her, and the driver spat onto the ground before responding.

"Old Bill 'ere? Stupid woman, ya have no sense in the matter of horses, bugger off! He ain't for sale, he's for workin'," He chastised her, rubbing his nose on his sleeve. Bristling at the "stupid" comment, she narrowed her eyes and straightened her spine, making herself taller and more imposing.

"Pardon me, sir, but you are the one without horse sense. This pony is not the proper size to be pulling this cart. Not one sensible and intelligent person in their right mind would have him even attempt to pull this cart, when you have much larger and better suited horses for it. You are abusing this animal." She turned her back on him, instead toward the original man. "Now I asked a question; is he for sale, or shall I set my sights elsewhere?"

Clearly insulted by her response, the man didn't respond right away, instead crossing his arms and glowering at her. If her turned her away, he would loose a sale, and money was more important than the fleabag standing next to him. "Name your price, my lady."

The venom on the end of the sentence made Saerthwyn smile deviously behind her cowl. "One gold piece for the pony, and another gold piece for the equipment that I shall need."

It was extremely overpriced for this pony, especially in his condition. The man jumped on it, all traces of ill-will gone as he ran to fetch the deed to the pony and the equipment, and the slimy man on the cart grumbled and hopped down to unhitch Bill. Saerthwyn returned to Alascene, pulling out two gold pieces of her saddlebag. Smiling as she tossed them up and down in her palm, she observed as the stablemaster equipped Bill, who was now curious as to what was going on, with the equipment and then turned to her expectantly. Easily, Saerthwyn dropped the piece into his hand, watched him weigh them, and then once he was satisfied, he handed Bill's lead to her. Thanking him kindly, she swung back onto Alascene, and started the walk back to Bree, Bill trailing confused behind her.

Down the hill the trio went, with Bill first trailing behind her, then pulling up right next to her, interested in his surroundings. Fishing a carrot out of her pack, she pulled Alascene and Bill to a stop and held it out to Bill, who sniffed it warily, and, after sure he was not going to be hit, gently took the treat out of Saerthwyn's hand. She smiled in triumph.

It took a good half hour to return to Bree, the sun signifying that it was roughly now nine in the morning. Bree had awoken; children were laughing and chasing each other through the streets, people were perusing market stands, horses were ambling this way and that as they pulled carts or carried riders, and everywhere there was noise. Worried that Bill would spook at the commotion, she turned to the pony as she waited for the gate guard to give her clear passage, and was pleasantly surprised to see him calmly standing next to Alascene, head held higher than when she first saw him, and intently looking around.

Trotting through the crowded streets, with people parting before Alascene to make room for the large horse, and Bill trotting beside her, the way to the Pony became clearer and the three crossed the distance easily. Outside the Pony, the hobbits and Strider were gathered, discussing intently. However, one of the more excitable hobbits, Pippin, she recalled, caught sight of her and pointed.

"Hail, friends! I come with an addition to your expedition!" She cheered, swinging down from Alascene. Lead both her and Bill, she walked over to the small group. "This is Bill the Pony; I bought him this morning. Take good care of him, he cost me a pretty penny!"

The hobbits crowded around, and one, Sam, thanked her for the gift and took the lead from her. Saerthwyn observed them, a reminsicing smile on her face. When she would appear back in her home village, many years ago, riding her then-steed Ulfred, the children would all rush to pet and smother him with love. The hobbits reminded her of such children, and her heart became heavier at the memory.

"That pony was certainly not worth what you probably paid for him, Saerthwyn," Strider hummed coming to stand next to her. He no doubt saw the condition Bill was in and was questioning her actions. But she merely winked at him, hands lacing behind her head.

"I told you, I paid a pretty penny!" At his blank look, she smiled wide, the cowl covering it. "Do you remember the elf Asphodiel, the artisan in Rivendell?"

"Yes, Lord Elrond commissioned several paintings from her when I was housed there. Why do you ask?"

"Her talent is impressive, and not only limited to the canvas. I asked if it was possible to paint copper pieces to look precisely like gold ones." Saerthwyn dug one such piece out of her bag and flipped it up in the air, letting Strider catch it. He observed it, and noticed no difference between a regular gold piece and this one. Unsheathing her dagger, Saerthwyn scrapped some of the paint off, to reveal dull brown copper underneath. "When I said a pretty penny, I meant a pretty penny."

Shaking his head with a smile, Strider handed back the piece to her. While she may have undersold the man at the farm, he couldn't find a reason to reproach her. It was well known the man was of greedy disposition, and often charged more than what his horses were worth. Saerthwyn did not take fondly to cheats, he knew, and also knew that she valued fairness and the worth of a life above that of gold and silver. He had no doubt in his mind that, if she hadn't had these fake pieces but real gold pieces, she would have still bought the battered pony.

"He'll get you to Rivendell, I guarantee it." She answered his unvoiced question as he looked upon the pony, who looked so alarmed at all the attention he was receiving. "He's got spirit; it was being wasted on that farm."

Strider trusted Saerthwyn's opinion on horses and ponies above anyone else's, and nodded. If she believed in the little pony, despite what he looked like, then so did he. Strider called to the hobbits, getting ready to purchase supplies and then depart. Saerthwyn knelt down to be on eye level with the hobbits. "I wish you all luck on your travels, master hobbits. We may meet again. May the shadows shield you and the night stars guide your path."

They said their farewells, and Saerthwyn shook each of their hands, ignoring the pit of fear that touched her spine when the last hobbit, Frodo, reached out to grasp her hand. She straightened up, and turned to Strider, who placed a firm hand on her shoulder. He didn't say goodbye, but that was their friendship; they always managed to find one another again. Instead, he passed her several letters, each addressed to a different member of his kin. They were formal introductions of her, he explained, and may make her arrival to the Rangers of the North more peaceful. His kinsmen, he noted, were very wary of outsiders; but if she came bearing his regards, they may receive her better. She thanked him and stashed the letters with Lord Elrond's, in a secure pouch in her saddle bag. Her final goodbye went to Bill the Pony, as a fond pat on the snout and a scratch on the neck. He whickered at her quietly, shoving his head against her abdomen, saying goodbye, and thank you.

She hopped up upon Alascene, waving goodbye once more to new friends and old, and then headed back to the West gate of Bree. She paused at one of the stalls to heed Strider's advice and purchase a fur lined cloak, and then the pair set off at a trot to the Ranger of Bree's home.

Back across the fields the two trotted, north toward Hengstacer Farms, but the pair past the hill and path to the farm and instead kept trotting north. Her thoughts were with the group who travelled for Rivendell, and she did admit she was worried for their saftey; none of the hobbits seemed to have any formal training in the art of fighting. Strider was capable, but as he had told her, one man cannot stand up to one hundred. The foes that chased the group were more fell than any beast she had ever faced, and while Strider was brave and full of courage, not even he alone could stand up to the Nine.

She spotted the ranger's cabin, nestled off the road into a grove of trees. She steered Alascene towards it, hoping off and walking toward it when she was about fifty meters away. On the porch of the small cabin sat a balding, older man, smoking a pipe and watching her approach. He was dressed for the forest, like the two previous rangers she met had been, but he looked more settled than most, as evidenced by his modest home.

"Hail, good woman. What can I do for you?" He asked, appraising her as she approached. What a sight she must have been! Mud covered, dirtied and bloodied, since she had yet to clean her armor from her fights in the Lone-Lands. However, to show she was not a threat, she pulled down her cowl and pushed back her hood, showing her heritage. Lord Elrond and Strider had both stated that these men were coarse, but loyal to those who proved to be a friend.

"Hail, good Saeradan of the Dúnedain, Ranger of Northern Bree, and kin to Aragorn, son of Arathorn! I come bearing a message from both your chieftan and the Lord of Imlandris." Saerthwyn observed how the Ranger straightened, looking at her with sharper eyes as she revealed how much information she knew. She handed the two letters to him, one from Lord Elrond and one from Strider; he took them from her carefully, puffing slowly and thoughtfully on his pipe. He opened both and read them, careful to keep his facial features calm and smooth. When he finished, he gazed at her quite steadily, and there was much wisdom in his features. Candaith's words spoke true; this man was level headed and collected, an essential part of the Company if the journey south was to occur.

"You know who I am, good woman, and my chieftan speaks highly of you. But, pray tell, who are you? You are many leagues from home, Saerthwyn, Lady of Rohan."

"That is a title not many speak, my lord!" Saerthwyn undid Alascene's girth, and allowed her mighty steed of Rohan to cool down by lifting the saddle and blanket up a little bit. Her heart gave a pitiful pang as he mentioned her heritage, and her home, but she pushed it aside. He needed to see her face, to show she wasn't a threat, but a friend. To remove the cowl and hood had been necessary. "You have good eyes, my lord; many think me for an elf with this fair hair. I am Saerthwyn, once of Rohan, but now a Watcher of Roads and a Thief in the Night. I come to bring a message and to gather the Dúnedain, to ready them to fight for their true king! The Grey Company must stand ready to ride south if the need arises. So tell me, good sir, will you stand with them, and hold the oath you made to your kinsman true?"


	3. Drinking Mischief

**Hello all! Thanks for the reviews and follows! This is part three; I'm trying to show who Saerthwyn is without making her too...well, you know. **

**Anyway, here's part three; let me know what you think!**

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It was midday by the time Saerthwyn finished the tale of how she came to Bree. It had pained her greatly; old wounds were reopened, and while she attempted to tell her tale as calmly as possible, bitterness and spite were still able to slip into her tone of voice. Saeradan had listened patiently, nodding here and there, all while wisely gauging her reactions to certain parts of her tale. When she had completed her story, the two went silent for a time, looking at Alascene and Saeradan's horse Bryfig grazing calmly next to each other.

"I have no doubt," Saeradan began, puffing heartily on his pipe before he blew it into the sky, both of them watching it float lazily toward the clouds. If only her past feelings and grudges could be let go as easily, Saerthwyn thought, sighing deeply as she crossed her arms on the railing of the ranger's porch. He looked at her from the corner of his eye before continuing. "That the tale you just told me was true, despite your experience in silvertongue and thievery. I detected no lies in you, and I believe your tale."

"That is good, my lord." Saerthwyn watched a bird flit between branches of an oak, trying to smother old memories and find some sort of fragile peace again. "It certainly makes my task easier if there are no mysteries between us, only friendship."

"Indeed." Silence again, the peaceful kind that does not demand to be broken. Alascene, sensing her rider's distress, lifted her head from grazing and plodded slowly over, worming her nose underneath Saerthwyn's hands. A ghost of her normal, genial smile returned, and she scratched right on Alascene's star, her favorite spot. Saeradan gazed over the rolling hills of Bree-land, smoke rising from his pipe and now floating about his head, hanging over him as his thoughts seemed to be doing.

They were not the plains of Rohan, with the golden grass waving ever gently in the breeze, Saerthwyn mused, but the emerald hills were certainly pretty. Looking out, following Saeradan's gaze, she could easily see why he had chosen to be stationed here; the hills rolled ever onward toward the west, filled with fertile farmland and a simple, relatively peaceful life in the country. Evil, for the most part, had not yet set its sights on Bree just yet; for now, the enemy in the East seemed to be focused solely on the ring-bearer. Perhaps this land would remain untouched by it all, and remain emerald in the afternoon sun forever onwards. Perhaps it would become nothing more than charred farms and withered shells of homes, like many villages of Rohan had become. She hoped it would not come to that, and refrained from voicing her thoughts to Saeradan.

"I have decided." Raising an eyebrow, she turned to peer at him curiously. The pipe was put away, and his hands were behind his back, posture straight and tall, like the oak trees lining around his home. "If the need arises, I shall travel south with the Company. But first, a favor to ask of you, good Burglar."

She played with Alascene's fetlock as she motioned for him to continue, listening with keen ears. "If...no, when, for I am certain that, if your tale holds fast, these events will come to pass, I should like to believe that I will return to my post after the war. I have little friends in this area, one being the innkeeper at the Pony. Could you see if he is willing to keep watch over my possessions when the time arises?"

"You ask an easy favor, my friend. I can do that, for I am staying there tonight before I head to the North Downs." Saerthwyn stuck out her hand, and Saeradan clasped it, firmly looking her in the eye. She held her ground, and he seemed impressed. "I shall have him send a post to say the message was delivered."

She trotted down the steps and clicked her tongue at Alascene to follow. She did, and the woman tightened her horse's girth, preparing for the ride back. She swung up into the saddle, situating herself before gathering the reins.

Saeradan's call gave her pause. "I wish you luck, good woman. I do not think this shall be our last meeting."

"Truthfully, sir, if you see me again, that will not be a good sign!" She laughed good-naturedly, nudging Alascene foreword into a trot and casting a final wave over her shoulder, pulling up her hood and cowl with her other hand. She thought about what Saeradan had said. When she had accepted the task from Lord Elrond, she had been deemed a messenger and nothing more. The ranger's journey south, if it happened, would take them across her homeland, and that was not something that she was willing to chance. Saerthwyn believed herself to be content as a roamer of the wilds, but deep down, squashed beneath all the resentment she held toward her kinsmen, she truly just desired to be home.

Alascene shied underneath her suddenly, and a less experienced rider would have fallen off sideways. The large horse was pawing and snorting at a small, crying child that had run into the main road, apparently to stop her. Looking down as the sniffling girl, she calmed Alascene as the girl caught her breath.

"Mama, and Papa, they...they..." More tears welled up in her eyes, and Saerthwyn's face eased slightly; she always had had a soft spot for children. Turning Alascene, she gestured for the girl to lead the way, and she took off toward the east, Saerthwyn and Alascene following behind cautiously.

There were three adults in front of the modest farmhouse as Alascene cautiously trotted up, all so engrossed in conversation that none saw her. The small girl circumvented the raggedy male, whose back was facing Saerthwyn, and dove for her mother's skirts, pressing her face into them.

Saerthwyn couldn't understand why she had been brought here; domestic disputes weren't her field of forte. Confused, she observed the situation better to understand. The older woman looked terrified, and seemed to be shrinking farther behind the male next to her, trying to become less visible and make it back to the modest farmhouse behind them. The cleaner man, in turn, was putting on a brave show, but he was sweating and swallowing often, signs of fear that Saerthwyn knew all too well. She deduced him to be a farmer, from how his skin was tanned and his clothes were easy to move around in.

But why was he scared? The grimy man was not a threat; he was shorter than the he, and scrawnier as well. Saerthwyn believed he could take him with no problem. About to turn and leave, she stopped as the sun caught the distinct glint of steel, and the sound of a sword being unsheathed caught her ears. Dismounting, she whispered a halting word to Alascene, so the horse wouldn't wander, and silently removed her sword and dagger from their placement on the saddle and attached them to her hips instead. In her years of expertise, intimidation was a valuable tool. She strapped a few throwing knives on for good measure and crept silently toward the tense conversion, avoiding rocks and underbrush to keep her footsteps light and muffled.

"I'm telling ye, Mister Johnathan; Master Blackwold isn't pleased with waiting for your payments anymore, no indeed." Saerthwyn had paced close enough to hear the issue at hand, and she stopped to hear the farmer's response.

"Please, just...just tell him we need a little more time! The crops will be harvested tomorrow and then sold the next day after! We'll be able to pay him double!" The farmer was whimpering now, hands clasped together as he shook them, pleading. The brigand, as Saerthwyn was able to deduce by his appearance as she crept ever closer, gave out a cackle. The woman then caught Saerthwyn's eye, and the burglar simply held a finger to her lips.

"No, Mister Johnathan, that won't work this time. Master Blackwold gave me specific instructions to take this here farm if the payment wasn't here. And he didn't specify how I could take the farm, neither."

The sword was pulled back, poised to strike down the farmer, and Saerthwyn moved, sidling behind the man and catching the back of his woven shirt. She grabbed it and yanked, sticking her foot out in the process, sweeping the brigand's legs out from underneath him, snorting at his stunned expression as he landed flat on his back with a loud thud. The sword clattered across the ground before resting in the grass. The air was knocked out of him, but his eyes widened as he caught sight of Saerthwyn and her weaponry.

"Is there a problem here, my lord?" Saerthwyn placed her foot upon the brigand's chest, addressing the farmer as she spoke. He looked stunned for words, so Saerthwyn turned to who she assumed to be his wife. "My lady?"

The woman looked a bit taken aback by the respectful title being shown by a fully armed woman, but nevertheless opened her mouth to speak. Before she could, however, the brigand was yelling from the ground, shouting how she had no right to interfere in a business transaction and how his master would have her head for this. Rolling her eyes, she excused herself from the woman and directed her attention to the man on the ground. Swinging her other leg up, she stepped fully onto the man's chest, and his ranting stopped as he simply focused on breathing with her full weight standing on him.

"Wait your turn, my good sir. I shall hear your end of the argument as well, but now, show respect as the lady voices her case." Saerthwyn remained standing on him as the woman resumed her tale, telling her what she had expected; there was a band of brigands nearby who demanded monthly payments in order for the farmers of the area to be left alone. They hadn't paid this month, and the situation had led to this. Saerthwyn nodded; it was what she had expected.

"Now, good sir, it is your turn!" She said cheerfully, hopping off the man and offering him a hand up. He spat on it, and instead lunged for her, hands going for her throat. Expecting this, she simply crouched and flipped him over her shoulder, using his momentum and body weight against him. Laughing, she spun on her heel and wagged her finger at him. "That won't work on me, you'll have to try harder! Now, are you going to tell me your argument sir, or will I have to beat it out of you?"

Her countenance had gone from playful to dark in a second as her sword and dagger were both unsheathed, the solid steel glinting red in the evening sun. She had enough of toying around; there was a task to be accomplished in Bree and this was taking up useful time. The brigand, without a weapon and his leverage gone, cursed her for eternity before running away, calling out behind him, "Master Blackwold will hear of this!"

Scoffing, Saerthwyn sheathed her weapons and turned to the family, who immediately thanked her. Telling them not to worry, Saerthwyn asked if they knew the Blackwold the man kept speaking of.

"He's the brigand's leader," the farmer picked his daughter up and held her close, as she was still shaking. "Often, I see 'im at the Pony, causing trouble for the poor innkeeper."

"I see," Saerthwyn hummed. "Do you think he will be there tonight?"

"Perhaps," the farmer said, throwing an arm around his wife's waist.

"Good." Saerthwyn whistled four sharp notes in varying pitch, and Alascene stopped grazing and trotted immediately toward her. "I ride for the Pony now; perhaps I will meet him!"

With wide eyes, the farmer looked at her. "Ye can't be serious, lass! He'll tear you to shreds! That man was simply a grunt, this man is their leader!"

"All leaders are simply men who think they hold power, my lord." She swung into the saddle, adjusting herself. "Besides, I am not frightened. It may even be fun!"

With a wave over her shoulder, she nudged Alascene into a trot to return to Bree. She was able to make it into the town right before they closed the West gate for the night, and Saerthwyn and Alascene trotted up to the Pony to complete a favor to both Saeradan and Bree-land.

Once Alascene was bedded down for the night, Saerthwyn entered the inn to the usual rowdiness and good cheer that ale usually brought. Laughing, she clapped a man at the bar on the shoulder in good fun and then blamed it on his neighbor when he turned offended at her. This send the one man lunging drunkenly at another, sprawling in a mess on the floor, and Saerthwyn broke out into a fit of giggles and snorts from the laughter.

Unlocking her room, she did a once over with her eyes, scrutinizing for anything out of place. When she was certain there were no traps lying in wait for her, she entered and shut the door behind her, the jovial sounds from downstairs still flowing through its cracks. She replaced her belongings under the loose floorboard and heaved off her sword and knives, but kept her dagger attached to her hip; it was easily concealed by her cloak, and she may have use for it.

Locking her room, she clomped down the stairs back into the main hall, watching as one of the barmaids slapped a man for getting too touchy. Shaking her head and smiling at the antics of this town, she hopped onto a seat at the bar and motioned the innkeeper over.

"What can I do for you, my good woman?" He asked, wiping down a mug and watching his patrons to make sure none caused too much trouble. Saerthwyn immediately liked the man.

"It is not what you can do for me, good sir; it is what you can do for Saeradan, of Northern Bree." The man focused her attention on her now, whiskers of his mustache twitching into a smile.

"Ah, the one many think to be a ranger! Well, ranger or not, I quite like the man. He has done much for the land, despite what people think. What is this favor—oh, excuse me, miss. Oi!" The innkeeper smacked one of the patrons at the bar on the back of the head, getting his attention. "Stop pestering my barmaid, Edward, or I'll cut you off!"

The man grumbled but stopped, and the innkeeper turned back to her. "I apologize, please continue."

Assuring him it wasn't a problem, she explained the favor Saeradan had requested of him. Listening intently, the innkeeper nodded when she was finished, and assured her that it was no trouble for him at all. He promised to send post tomorrow morning to tell Saeradan her message had been delivered, and her also promised that, if Saeradan did indeed travel, he would provision him as well. Thanking him greatly, she began to order herself an ale when all chatter in the inn stopped, and the innkeeper's face paled.

Turning on her stool, she saw a rather larger man stride into the room, plop down at a table, and snarl for ale. The barmaid turned and scurried to fulfill his request, and the man snapped at the rest of patrons, wondering why they were staring. Uneasy conversation started back up, but there was a wide berth around the man that the rest of the patrons avoided; no one seemed to want to go near him. This must be the Blackwold the man was talking about, she realized as he gulped down a pint and called for another.

"Innkeeper, who is that?" she asked, and his attention swung back to her.

"That'd be Bill Blackwold; better not mess with him, miss. He's the leader of the brigands in Bree-land. Nasty bunch; burn farms, rob families. Sometimes murder. The guard has been after him for a while, him and his gang, but the last time they attempted to apprehend him he slew two of their ranks and injured the rest. They tend to leave him alone now, but once in a while a green, fresh out of training guard will make an attempt at Blackwold. We never see them again."

"I see." Saerthwyn hummed, watching the man as he ordered another pint after his second. He certainly liked his drink. "I've changed my order, if you please. One spiced cider as well as ale, and please spice the ale with the same spices the cider uses."

She received her two drinks and thanked him, swinging off the stool and heading toward the man. Everyone watched her path, and one person even tried to reach out and stop her. She swung around the hand and sat down right next to the imposing male, clunking the ale in front of him. He looked at her, the startled look in his eye meaning that he had not heard her approach, but his face was calm as he appraised her.

"You're the cur that stopped my flow of payment." It was a low and easy statement, no resentment yet permeating his words, just recognition. The man Saerthwyn had let go must have described her to his boss. The inn ignited with a flurry of whispers, and Saerthwyn paused to listen to some before continuing. They all seemed to voice shock at her communication with the man, and some apprehension of a fight. This man was not well liked, she heard, and another even stated that she was forfeiting her life.

"I am, good sir; I bring a peace offering and a reason for my actions, Master Blackwold," she nudged the pint of ale closer to the man, demeanor calm and relaxed. When he didn't deny the title, she knew she had the right man. He picked it up and sniffed at it, before setting it down and reaching for the other one, her mug of cider. She watching him sniff that as well, before replacing it in front of her. This was what Saerthwyn had hoped he would do. She felt herself become giddy; oh, she loved when her plans fell into place!

He took a long swig of ale before speaking again. "Well, have at it then. Speak, and I may not cut your throat."

"I appreciate that, good sir." She took a swig of her own drink, to prove that nothing was amiss. "See, in all my years of profit making, I know for a fact that without an income source, there would be no income. You clearly are a smart man, you understand that bit; I have seen your investments across the hills of Bree, and you clearly know how to run a business! I simply stopped your man today because I heard with my own ears that the man would pay you back two fold when he sold his crops! Two fold! Much better than one, I deem. If your man had killed him, you would have lost all profit and all future profit. Not a smart business idea. I would fire that man if I were you."

He regarded her coolly, and downed the rest of his ale. Saerthwyn motioned for another of the same type for him. "You speak well, for a woman. But in my world, coin speaks louder than your words."

"Ah." She thanked the barmaid, who scurried away without giving a response. Even though the brigand said he was unfazed by her words, that was not the case; he had puffed himself up as she had spoken, and his body had turned toward her, showing her was listening and paying attention and loving the attention. "I see. Allow me to pick up your tab for tonight, and..." she pulled out a small coin purse, jiggling it. His eyes flew to it, greed filling them. "This should cover the payment of the farmer."

He snatched it out of her hands and looked inside, pleasure filling his face as he looked at all the silver inside. He drowned his fourth pint of ale and Saerthwyn called for another, which he drank just as quick. Two more pints went down the hatch in quick succession, Saerthwyn pressuring him gently each time to drink, even though he kept trying to refuse. By the seventh, he was swaying in his seat; at the eighth, his eyes were fluttering shut. She swept from her chair, perfectly balanced, for all she had been drinking was cider, and retrieved a hardy and long rope for her provisions upstairs.

When she returned, Blackwold has passed out on the tabletop, the last pitcher of ale spilled in front of him. Hoisting him onto her shoulders, she dragged him out of the bar, much to the curiosity of the patrons. She dragged him into town square, letting the cool night engulf her. Out the north gate of Bree they went, past the sleeping guard, toward a big sturdy evergreen tree with thick needles. Hefting him onto the first branch, she climbed up next to him, and then hefted him onto the next sturdy branch. Two more branches she climbed, before sitting Blackwold up against the trunk of the fourth branch. Unclasping the rope for her belt, she wound it around his body and the trunk, and tied it tight; there was no way the knot could be undone with hands, only by cutting it.

She took this time to burst out giggling; this was the best joke she had played in a long time! She wasn't worried about the man getting down; from this height, she could see fires in the Chetwood, and knew that they belonged to Blackwold and his men. When the man started yelling, they would be able to find him. Unless, of course, the guards got him first, which was the plan. The tree was closer and the guards changed shifts at dawn, so the fresh ears would probably hear better than the sleep drunk brigand ones. And if he didn't get down at all? Saerthwyn did not think he would be missed.

"This is mine, good sir," She hissed the last two words, snatching her silver back. Grabbing his own silver pouch, she emptied its contents into her own pouch before letting it flutter away. "And so is this."

She jumped down from the branch, carefully climbing back down, before jogging back to the Pony. Part of her, a very small part, but still a part of her, knew that this joke was especially cruel, but the other parts argued back that so was theft and murder, and this man had both on his hands. Her internal argument was ended.

All eyes watched her as she walked into the Pony, and she looked around before smiling. "A round for everyone in here!"

They all cheered, curiosity forgotten. Saerthwyn paid the innkeeper, simply giving him the bag of silver she had claimed off of Blackwold's body. There was more than enough to cover it, and the innkeeper mentioned this, but Saerthwyn merely waved him off, saying he could use the rest as payment to provision Saeradan. She headed up the stairs to her room to sleep, not thinking twice about anything else.

In the dawn she woke before most of the inn, gathered her things and walked outside to sunshine and clear skies. She fetched Alascene from the stables and readied her, all while eating a small breakfast. As she passed the North Gate, she curiously glanced out to see a group of guards surrounding it, and she cackled to herself. Blackwold certainly wouldn't forget her!

She hopped onto Alascene, who started to trot north again, almost knowing the road by heart. They rode for the entirety of the morning, only stopping once to lay a few coins at the doorstep of the farm from yesterday. They then trotted past the horse farm, and Saeradan's modest cabin, toward a gap in the mountain range. It was a nice ride, with the birds chirping and the sun shining bright. Saerthwyn gave Alascene as much rein as she desired, and trusted her horse to follow the road to the North Downs.

The rangers of Esteldin were her next target. Lord Elrond had told her where to find them in the North Downs, nestled in a small valley away from prying eyes. The matter at hand would be to gain their trust to enter the valley, as it was one of the ranger's main strongholds. As she was wondering if Lord Elrond's letter and Aragorn's recommendations would be enough, she failed to notice the stopping of bird song. She did, however, notice as the sun disappeared. Glancing up, she kicked Alascene into a canter as she spotted pillars of smoke over the treetops. Bracing herself for what she might find, Saerthwyn hooked her sword to her belt and strapped on her throwing knives just as Alascene burst into the burnt city of Trestlebridge.


End file.
